


when choice means leaving everything behind

by zelly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelly/pseuds/zelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione makes some difficult choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when choice means leaving everything behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Awesome Ladies Ficathon' on LiveJournal.
> 
> Prompt: Something inside the cards I know is right  
> Don’t wanna live somebody elses life  
> This is what I wanna be and this is what I give to you because I get it free
> 
> This is written for faded_facade.

It's always been her choice, which life she chooses to live.

They might _expect_ her to marry one man over the other, but _she_ knows that doesn’t necessarily mean she will. Because Hermione Granger _never_ answers wrongly, not when it matters. She's smart and wise, and she's always been the go-to girl for any question left unanswerable.

The right path might have disappeared beneath the dust for a while, her mind muddled and logic winning out over her heart; but a small part of her always knows she'll come out right again.

Even when she tells Ron, _yes_ , and he slips the diamond on her left hand, his fingers trembling and ice-cold, his breath hot and relieved against her lips before he clumsily kisses her.

Even when she's gone through fifteen white wedding dresses, one blue one and two terrible looking pink ones that make her feel like she ought to be standing on display in Madam Puddifoot's teashop.

Even when her dress is hanging over the full-length mirror – pale and pretty, with a few too many sparkles – and she feels a heaviness in her chest so painful, she crouches by her bed and cries until she’s sobbing without tears and her ring feels like it’ll sear her finger off.

Each time, she’s afraid that her rejection of one will tear all three of them apart, a cataclysmic explosion of anger and guilt and long-buried feelings that have no right to surface again.

(Because Harry’s the best man; he’s their best friend; he’s their _person_.)

*

As she walks down the aisle, white and graceful, her bushy, impossible hair teased and curled into submission, her face a perfect canvas of soft pink hues, the church is empty on either side.

It’s twelve hours before the wedding and she’d asked to see him.

It was important, she said.

He stands there in his plum-coloured jumper and worn out blue jeans, his ginger hair in disarray. He watches her questioningly, frowning when he realizes she’s all dolled up and starts, “It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress -” before she’s pressing a finger to his lips.

Her mascara is running with her tears, streaking down her perfectly pink cheeks, and then she’s telling him everything (years of secrets, years of lies), apologizing with every sentence, feeling the cracks in their triumvirate already start to form, growing bigger and deeper with every hurtful word.

A small part of her knows _she'll_ come out right again, but more than anything, she hopes they _all_ will.


End file.
